221B Moments
by Kizmet
Summary: Character studies done in 221B format
1. Unbearably Tedious

**Unbearably Tedious**

**Disclaimer: **Premise and characters belong to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and, of course the incredible Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I'm only borrowing them for a bit of non-profit fun.

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"When I was seven, Mycroft instructed me to create a catalogue of behaviors which instigated violence. His intention was that once I had such a catalogue I would desist in those behaviors. At the time," Sherlock's expression twisted disdainfully, "I admired Mycroft, I did as he asked."

"The question complex: responses varied with gender, age, class, cultural background, situation and of course, the individual; although the last is almost irrelevant when 'acceptable behavior' holds sway . At present, given 30 seconds to observe the subject, I can simulate their response in public with 90% accuracy. My accuracy drops to 70% in a private setting."

"If that were true-" John began

"I would pretend for Sargent Donavan that the unfortunate fate of a random stranger means more to me than the opportunity to exercise the abilities that make me feel alive?" .

"By the time I was nine, I was capable of carrying out socially acceptable interactions. It pleased Mycroft and Mummy. It was unbearably tedious. One minute of observation and a script rolled out in my brain which I would be compelled to follow it, like a programed robot."

"So, one day, instead of asking Lady Scottsdale about her thoroughbreds, I asked her why the romantic attentions of her groom enticed her more than those of her husband..." Sherlock smiled. "Then I bolted."


	2. Blame

**Blame**

**Disclaimer: **Premise and characters belong to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and, of course the incredible Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I'm only borrowing them for a bit of non-profit fun.

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Sally was professional, courteous and even a little curious the first time she was on a case where Sherlock Holmes was called in.

By the fifth case, Sally couldn't deny that Sherlock got results, but she utterly loathed him. It was transparently clear that he couldn't care less about the victims, had no respect for the police and liked clever murderers. She was still professional when dealing with him, but afterwards, drinking with her friends and co-workers, she was more than free with her opinion of one Sherlock Holmes.

The next time she held up the tape for Sherlock to cross under, he'd paused and leaned close to her, "Hypocrisy is one of the most unbecoming habits of _normal _people."

After that Sally addressed him as 'Freak'. It was the compromise he'd asked for, wasn't it? It wasn't as if she would stop expecting him to get bored with _solving_ crimes one day.

Then came John Watson, who was decent bloke even if he had terrible taste in friends.

When she saw John After she'd wanted to tell him that she knew Sherlock hadn't been a fraud, she'd thought he'd finally gone over the rails. Being forward with her accusations was just playing by the rules. She couldn't say it, it would be like trying shift her share of the blame.


	3. Inappropriate

**Inappropriate**

**Disclaimer: **Premise and characters belong to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and, of course the incredible Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I'm only borrowing them for a bit of non-profit fun.

"Bit inappropriate," John interjected, before Sherlock could get to the really fun part of his latest round of deductions.

"Why" the Consulting Detective asked. "It's not the subject matter."

John's expression, and Lestrade's, begged to differ.

Sherlock scowled. "Half the Met speculates about whether or not we're sleeping together," he pointed out.

"Half of London it seems," John groaned. "For the record, we're not."

"And a majority of the other half have simply moved on to speculating over who tops." At that point the various officers working the crime scene gave up even the pretense of not listening in.

John's face turned beet red, he started muttering about "Doesn't anyone have anything better to do? What's so fascinating about my hypothetical sex-life?"

"Obviously, sexual relationships are NOT an inappropriate, or even uncommon, topic of discussion." Sherlock glanced around with a smug look of triumphant, As if the blatant curiosity he was generating proved his point. "So why is the topic inappropriate when I mention it?" He glanced at Donavan and Anderson and smirked. "Ah… It's because my deductions are almost always accurate."

Before either could retaliate Lestrade threw his hands up in the air. "Am I running a daycare?" he demanded. "Alright, henceforth, at crime scenes, all gossip and personal observations about anyone other than the corpse or the suspects are banned!"


	4. Return

**Return**

******Disclaimer: **Premise and characters belong to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and, of course the incredible Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I'm only borrowing them for a bit of non-profit fun.**  
**

**Note: **Can't not think of a reunion scene in this fandom.

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Emotions are not, have never been, Sherlock's area. But unlike the solar system they did have impact his work and so he'd made a careful study of them. Still, despite his studies, the physiological tells for emotions were never as precise as the calluses on a person's hand or the tan lines on their skin. Sherlock has never wished for a better intuitive grasp of emotion more than he does now.

John's lips are compressed in a tight, hard line; indicative of anger. Sherlock had anticipated this possibility. John generally expressed a need to 'get some air' when angry with Sherlock; the hand, locked like a vice around Sherlock's bicep, says John doesn't want space this time.

Sherlock talks because he doesn't what else to do. He explains why. He apologizes. Then there's so much he'd wanted to tell John while he was gone, it spills out to fill the space that's come between them. "I missed you."

"**You** had a choice."

"Do you realize how difficult it is to fake a death in this day and age? But as long as you believed no one looked closer. You protected us all. If they'd realized they would have killed you… Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade… I would be dead."

The grip on his arm softens but remains. A sigh, "At least you're back."


End file.
